


Foundations

by DA1SYCHA1NS



Category: Criminal Minds, Dr. Spencer Reid - Fandom, Matthew Gray Gubler - Fandom, Reid x OC, Spencer Reid - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fanfiction, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Reid/OC - Freeform, Romance, Spencer Reid - Freeform, Spencer Reid x OC - Freeform, Spencer Reid/OC - Freeform, reid x oc - Freeform, romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9425210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DA1SYCHA1NS/pseuds/DA1SYCHA1NS
Summary: The BAU initiates a new member to the team. It looks like she'll fit right in, and she seems to catch the eye of Dr. Spencer Reid. But will her first case bring up a past that she's not ready to share with the team?





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> All works posted on this site are works of fanfiction unless expressly stated otherwise. I claim no ownership of any trademarked characters used. The beginning of the storyline of this case comes directly from Season 2, Episode 2: P911. I only own the original character(s) in the work.

Dr. Spencer Reid stirred ludicrous amounts sugar into his coffee as he stepped out of the break room and returned to his desk.

“Well, how’d you do last night?” Spencer heard SSA Derek Morgan ask Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia.

“Three hours again,” she looked at Derek sheepishly, pushing her purple glasses up on her nose slightly.

“Baby girl,” Derek replied, taking the fuzzy pink and purple pen from her fidgeting fingers. “You can’t function on three hours of sleep.”

“He’s right,” Spencer cut in. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“I know, but it’s better than the nightmares,” Penelope frowned.

Derek insisted, “There’s got to be something you can do.”

“I’ve tried everything, trust me.”

Spencer gestured toward Penelope’s colorful coffee mug. “Have you tried not drinking coffee?”

“This is herbal tea. No caffeine,” she retorted, though her jittery hands contradicted her. “What else you got? Better be a good answer.” Neither Derek nor Spencer responded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

A look passed between Spencer and Derek, one that did not go unnoticed by their friend. “What?”

“I know,” Spencer said to Derek, ignoring Penelope’s questioning eyes.

“What?”

“Surprised me, too,” Derek said to Spencer.

“What?” Penelope stepped between the two agents, facing Derek. “What surprised you?”

Derek exchanged one more glance with Spencer before responding. “Hotch talked to Emily.”

“And?” Penelope demanded, gesturing a bit overenthusiastically, sloshing tea over the edge of her mug.

“She just doesn’t want to come back,” Spencer said kindly.

Penelope stepped backward slightly, turning to look back at Spencer. “Why? She loves us.”

Derek put his hands on Penelope’s shoulders bracingly. “For what it’s worth, Hotch is interviewing someone he says we’ve met before.”

“He is? How many candidates is that now?”

Spencer turned back to the file that was waiting on his desk. “This one makes lucky number ten.”

“What? See? This is what happens when I don’t sleep! I miss things! Who is this person? Are they nice?” Derek chuckled as Penelope ranted. “Why is that the first question I always ask?”

 

* * *

 

Upstairs, Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner looked apologetically over a mountain of papers piled high on top of his desk. The blonde sitting on the other side of the stack smiled expectantly.

“The, uh, piles of files aren’t usually this high,” he nodded toward the papers, characteristically stone-faced. “Our Section Chief is overseas and we’re down an agent.”

“I heard that SSA Blake transferred to Boston.”

“She decided to teach full-time,” Hotch responded.

The blonde smiled again, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “Good for her. I’m not ready for that.”

“I’m not either.” Hotch almost smiled. “You have an impressive success rating and your supervisor speaks very highly of you. I think you’ll be a valuable asset to the team.”

The blonde quirked her eyebrow. “Really? That’s it? I’ve only been here two minutes. There’s no song and dance? I mean, I had a whole thing prepared. I don’t know if you know this, but there is a band outside your door.”

Hotch couldn’t resist a small smile this time. “Your eight years with the Bureau and your undercover work convinced me that you’ll fit right in.” He stood, the blonde quickly following suit. “Any questions?”

“Sometimes it takes me two or three months to arrest one offender. You catch a new one every week.” Hotch waited for a question. “How do you not take it with you?”

A knock on the door kept Hotch from responding.

“I know, I’m interrupting,” Penelope apologized, peering into the office.

Hotch introduced the newest team member. “Uh, Garcia, this is Agent Greenlee Garrett. She’ll be joining the team.”

Agent Garrett extended a hand warmly toward Penelope, who shook it eagerly. “I know you,” Penelope said, much to the surprise of both women. Hotch cleared his throat. Penelope broke the handshake to turn back to her boss, her excitement turning into a frown. “Uh, he’s back. In New York. Peter’s back.”

“I’ll be right there,” he responded. Hotch watched Penelope back out the door before turning back to Agent Garrett. “We’ve been consulting.”

“But you haven’t made the trip?” she asked.

“We’re about to.”

Agent Garrett raised her eyebrows.

“You have a go bag?”

She squared her shoulders and straightened her black blazer. “I’m like a Boy Scout, sir. Always prepared.”

“Good to hear. I know it’s your first day, but we are heading back to your old stomping grounds. Would you be comfortable to liaise between the New York office and the team?”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help catch this guy.” Agent Garrett paused, unsure how to proceed. “Agent Hotchner -”

“Please, call me Hotch.”

“Hotch.” She paused again, attempting a smile. “Do you know about my history in New York?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a richer reading experience with images and gifs of the characters, read Foundations on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/daisychains4


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All works posted on this site are works of fanfiction unless expressly stated otherwise. I claim no ownership of any trademarked characters used. The beginning of the storyline of this case comes directly from Season 2, Episode 2: P911. I only own the original character(s) in the work.

The team was gathered around the conference table listening to Penelope’s briefing.

“40,000 images of child pornography are posted every week on the Internet,” Penelope agonized, “along with the appearance of 20 new children. The appetite for babies as young as four months old has soared,” she explained, clicking through images on the screen behind her without turning around.

Hotch opened the glass door and allowed Agent Garrett to step into the room with the rest of the team, closing it quietly behind him.

Spencer, whose back was to the door, added, “Many of these children have been kidnapped,” he began, turning at the soft click of the glass door closing, “and sold into pedophile rings for sexual-” Spencer choked on his last word when his eyes landed on the slim blonde agent standing next to his boss. His face reddened as the team looked first to him, wondering why he stopped talking, then to her.

Hotch cleared his throat. “Everyone, this is SSA Greenlee Garrett, from Andy Swan’s unit. She’ll be joining the team.”

Agent Garrett smiled and waved at the table. “Hi.”

“Congratulations, Agent Garrett,” Agent Jennifer Jareau - JJ - said, shaking hands with her fellow blonde.

“Greenlee, please,” the newest member of the team beamed. “And thanks.”

“How are Andy and Seaver doing?” Derek asked.

“Uh, they’re great, and they say hello.”

“Welcome, welcome,” seasoned SSA David Rossi added.

Spencer could do no more than nod, looking somewhere in the vicinity of her forehead rather than making eye contact.

“We’ll finish briefing on the plane,” Hotch refocused the team. “Wheels up in 20.”

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, the team was gathered around the centermost table of the jet, faces turned toward Penelope, who rarely travelled with the team.

“Two years ago, the same boy appeared on several websites used by pedophiles,” she was saying. “He was a new face then. After a massive hunt led by our Crimes Against Children Unit in NYC, the boy disappeared. Until today, when SSA Cole telephoned us.”

“Katie Cole?” Derek interrupted. “She was in the BAU, right?”

Rossi jumped in. “One of the first profilers. Clinical psychologist, brilliant. She runs the biggest Crimes Against Children Unit in the FBI.”

“I always wanted to meet her,” Penelope piped up.

“Really?” Derek asked, cocking his head. “I heard she’s a bitch.”

 

After a short flight, the team entered the New York FBI office, ready to jump into what they knew would be a difficult case.

Seeing the team arrive, Agent Cole crossed the room to greet them. “Hotch. Thanks for coming.”

“Hi Katie. Team,” he said, indicating the group behind him, “this is SSA Katie Cole. Katie, this is-” he pointed to each agent lined up behind him, “SSA Morgan, Garrett, Jareau, Dr. Spencer Reid, SSA Rossi.”

Katie grasped Rossi’s hand in recognition before indicating a glass board set up in the center of the large conference room. Unlike the team’s usual set-up, this room’s walls were lined with computers, all intently manned by Cole’s agents.

“The first time I ever saw him,” Katie began, “he appeared in a series of photos. I named him Peter. Now he’s being auctioned off when that clock runs to zero.”

“Auctioned,” JJ muttered with disgust.

“His face isn’t pixelated,” Morgan noted.

“‘Cause the unsub is confident that we’re not going to be able to identify him in time,” Katie answered.

“What about the site itself?” JJ wondered. “Can’t we just track its origin?”

The agent in front of the largest computer monitor turned to answer. “It’s routed through a proxy server in Belarus. Even if that government was friendly, Peter’d be gone before we finished the paperwork.”

“We don’t need to worry about the paperwork, we have Garcia.” Hotch turned to her. “Better get on that, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, moving to an empty table where she could set up her own computer station.

“So, what happened a year ago, Katie?” Rossi asked.

“We cross-referenced images of the boy. We talked to known offenders nationwide. We narrowed the location down the the eastern United States. We had some suspects, but the trail went cold.” She paused. “Until today.”

“With all due respect, Agent Cole, how is this time going to be any different?” Derek interjected.

Katie took a deep breath before responding. “We have a starting point. The location where the image was first discovered. A chat room. Hosted by an independent web company here in New York. And this time, I am bringing you all in with me.” A look passed between the members of the BAU. “This image was uploaded to one of our C.A.C. undercovers fishing in a chatroom. We try to monitor as many of them as we can, pretending to be children, pedophiles, whatever works on that site.”

JJ asked, “Did you run forensic linguistics on the chat log? There might be something to Hugz’s speech patterns.”

To the surprise of the team, especially Garcia, it was Greenlee who answered. “It doesn’t really work that way with Internet talk. Most of the talk is abbreviated text: LOL, laughing out loud. IMHO, in my humble opinion. FTF, face to face.”

“Right,” JJ said, looking disappointed.

Reid added, “Pedophiles can be divided into two categories: situational and preferential. Situational offenders rarely seek out children, but they’ll take advantage of a situation when presented with it, whereas preferential offenders actively target children by age group. They’ll seek out jobs which give them as much access to children as possible. They often trawl around residential neighborhoods, hijacking home wireless systems and communicating with children, often right outside the very house the child is in.”

“Or they’ll simply use a coffee shop with wireless access to find, locate, and arrange a meeting,” Katie said as she looked at the monitor.

“And it’s growing,” said Greenlee. “It’s growing as fast as the Internet.” Garcia shivered. “They’re getting smarter and smarter, and all the security in the world can’t stop them from coming through our doors.”

“Hell, the monsters are already in our homes,” Katie said cryptically.

Reid contemplated, “If he’s had this kid for a year, it makes him preferential.”

“Definitely,” Katie agreed.

“So, then why is he selling him?” asked Garcia.

“Maybe he’s losing interest,” JJ said, turning to Garcia. “Peter’s maybe getting too old, too tall.”

Reid agreed. “Preferential offenders are very specific about their preferences.”

“And if he can’t sell him?” JJ asked, concerned. “He isn’t going to just let him go.”

No one responded, but the look on everyone’s face said the same thing: the only way to save Peter was to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a richer reading experience with images and gifs of the characters, read Foundations on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/daisychains4


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All works posted on this site are works of fanfiction unless expressly stated otherwise. I claim no ownership of any trademarked characters used. The beginning of the storyline of this case comes directly from Season 2, Episode 2: P911. I only own the original character(s) in the work.

“Reid and Garcia, check the live feed,” Hotch directed. “Not just the boy, but everything around him. The room. See if we missed anything.”

“Ok,” said Reid, sitting down with Garcia in front of her array of computer monitors. “Katie said that he first appeared a year ago, right? But he was in a normal room.”

“The pictures didn’t look like that,” Garcia agreed, indicating the room in the live feed. “So, something changed?”

“A stressor for him to lock Peter away,” Reid agreed.

“Hey, look at this,” Garcia said excitedly.

“What is it?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“Wait, do you see how he’s looking off camera?” Spencer asked, pointing at the monitor. “Someone’s telling him to do what he’s doing. A bidder must want to see him wearing -”

“Wait a minute,” Garcia interrupted, watching as the boy put a button-down shirt over his tee. “That’s a Bear Cubs shirt!”

“Bear Cubs?”

At this, Greenlee, who had been working nearby on a set of chatroom transcripts, joined Reid and Garcia to look at Peter’s live feed. She leaned forward to get a closer look at the monitor, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder. Reid hadn’t noticed her take it out of the messy bun on the top of her head, but he now found it impossible to ignore the curtain of gold falling onto his right shoulder or the smell of vanilla emanating from it.

“It’s a wilderness camp,” Garcia continued. “Knot tying. Compass wielding. Boy stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Reid asked, clearly having no experience with anything like the Bear Cubs.

Greenlee shifted her attention to Reid, flipping her blonde waves over her other shoulder, blocking Garcia from view. 

“She’s sure,” Greenlee asserted, an obvious edge to her voice. Reid turned to her, surprised by her response and even more surprised at how close her face suddenly was to his. He swallowed, and Greenlee seemed taken aback. At Garcia’s cough, Greenlee recovered. “Camp Bear Cub is a charity camp put on by the Blake Foundation, a children’s charity here in New York.”

“How do you know about it?” Reid asked.

Greenlee straightened, turning away from the computer before answering. “I’m from New York. I volunteered at the camp growing up. Garcia, capture that image when he turns,” she said, shifting the attention away from herself. Reid maintained his gaze on the newest team member momentarily before turning back to the computer.

“Wait, wait, enhance it.”

“It’s like, four numbers,” Garcia said, zooming in on the boy’s sleeve.

Reid asked, “What is that? Three something, something, is that a six?”

Greenlee replied, “That’s a troop number. Kind of like a graduating class. Each year, the newest age group gets a troop number that follows them from summer to summer. Four digits beginning with a three.”

“But a troop number would be registered, right?” Reid asked, looking to Greenlee.

“Already on it, kitten,” Garcia said, tapping away at her keyboard.

“Can you get any closer?” Greenlee asked.

“I can,” Garcia said, “but it’ll distort the image even more.”

Greenlee abruptly turned and left the conference room, leaving Reid and Garcia to search for more information about Peter’s Bear Cubs troop.

 

* * *

 

“Hotch, Garcia and Reid found something. And I think I know how we can find Peter.”

Hotch looked up sharply from the file he was reading. He looked to Greenlee, then to Katie.

“In my office,” Katie said, standing to lead the two FBI agents into a room behind her and closing them all inside.

“Peter is a Blake Bear Cub,” Greenlee began, “which means he was in the foster system.”

Although Katie seemed to understand this, Hotch’s face was blank.

“The Blake Foundation is a children’s charity here in New York. They mostly work with kids in the foster system. Every summer, they offer camps to foster kids that  teach wilderness skills, but they do so much more than that. They create community, belonging, hope. An escape from life in the foster system. And each summer, the Bear Cubs have a different troop number. So if Peter is a Bear Cub, we can use his troop number to figure out what summer he went to camp. The Blake Foundation will have records of everyone who attended. We should be able to identify Peter.”

Hotch looked hopeful. “Alright. I’ll send Morgan and Reid to the camp to see what they can find.”

“I’ll go, too,” Greenlee said determinedly.

“Not a chance, Garrett,” Hotch said sharply. “You’re too close to this.”

Greenlee looked like she wanted to argue, but held back.

 

* * *

 

In a cabin office on the property of Camp Bear Cub, Morgan questioned an old woman exasperatedly.

“You’re certain that the shirt came from our camp?” she asked.

“We’re sure. The records?” Morgan prompted.

“I’m sorry, we lost a lot of our paper files to a flood a couple of years ago. What is the troop number?”

“It starts with a three and ends with a six,” Reid said.

“They all start with three,” the woman said unhelpfully. “But only…” she was counting, “three troops ended with a six. Troop 3246 in 2004; 3356 in 2010; and 3576 2015.”

“Start with 3576, the most recent troop,” Reid calculated.

The woman frowned. “That’s one of the files that was lost in the flood,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Morgan grabbed his temples in frustration, then turned to leave.

“Wait,” the woman said hurriedly. “There may be a photo of the Bear Cubs.”

Reid handed the woman a picture of Peter. “Do you recognize him? Please look carefully.”

The woman turned to the wall behind her, on which hung various camp pictures. Morgan skirted the counter that divided the room and joined her to look closely at all the pictures.

“That’s him right there,” he exclaimed, pointing at a photo of a Bear Cubs troop. “Is there a name, address, anything?”

“As I said, there are no records left,” the woman replied apologetically. “Let me see that,” she said, moving toward the picture to look at the boy Morgan indicated. “His name’s Charlie,” she said, helpful for once. “And he only came for one summer.”

“Is that odd?” Reid asked.

“Most boys attend every summer from the age of eight to about fifteen.”

“Do you remember who his foster parents were? His last name? Anything about him?”

“Oh, dear, no,” she said. Morgan and Reid turned to leave quickly. “I’d have no idea,” she said, turning back around to find she was talking to an empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a richer reading experience with images and gifs of the characters, read Foundations on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/daisychains4


	4. Four

“Reid and Garcia, check the live feed,” Hotch directed. “Not just the boy, but everything around him. The room. See if we missed anything.”

“Ok,” said Reid, sitting down with Garcia in front of her array of computer monitors. “Katie said that he first appeared a year ago, right? But he was in a normal room.”

“The pictures didn’t look like that,” Garcia agreed, indicating the room in the live feed. “So, something changed?”

“A stressor for him to lock Peter away,” Reid agreed.

“Hey, look at this,” Garcia said excitedly.

“What is it?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“Wait, do you see how he’s looking off camera?” Spencer asked, pointing at the monitor. “Someone’s telling him to do what he’s doing. A bidder must want to see him wearing -”

“Wait a minute,” Garcia interrupted, watching as the boy put a button-down shirt over his tee. “That’s a Bear Cubs shirt!”

“Bear Cubs?”

At this, Greenlee, who had been working nearby on a set of chatroom transcripts, joined Reid and Garcia to look at Peter’s live feed.

“It’s a wilderness camp,” Garcia continued. “Knot tying. Compass wielding. Boy stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Reid asked, clearly having no experience with anything like the Bear Cubs.

“She’s sure,” Greenlee interrupted, an obvious edge to her voice. Reid turned to her, surprised. At his look, Greenlee explained, “Camp Bear Cub is a charity camp put on by the Blake Foundation, a children’s charity here in New York.”

“How do you know about it?” Reid asked.

Greenlee didn’t quite meet his eye. “I’m from New York. I volunteered at the camp growing up. Garcia, capture that image when he turns,” she said, shifting the attention away from herself. Reid maintained his gaze on the newest team member momentarily before turning back to the computer.

“Wait, wait, enhance it.”

“It’s like, four numbers,” Garcia said, zooming in on the boy’s sleeve.

Reid asked, “What is that? Three something, something, is that a six?”

Greenlee replied, “That’s a troop number. Kind of like a graduating class. Each year, the newest age group gets a troop number that follows them from summer to summer. Four digits beginning with a three.”

“But a troop number would be registered, right?” Reid asked, looking to Greenlee.

“Already on it, kitten,” Garcia said, tapping away at her keyboard.

“Can you get any closer?” Greenlee asked.

“I can,” Garcia said, “but it’ll distort the image even more.”

Greenlee abruptly turned and left the conference room, leaving Reid and Garcia to search for more information about Peter’s Bear Cubs troop.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hotch, Garcia and Reid found something. And I think I know how we can find Peter.”

Hotch looked up sharply from the file he was reading. He looked to Greenlee, then to Katie.

“In my office,” Katie said, standing to lead the two FBI agents into a room behind her and closing them all inside.

“Peter is a Blake Bear Cub,” Greenlee began, “which means he was in the foster system.”

Although Katie seemed to understand this, Hotch’s face was blank.

“The Blake Foundation is a children’s charity here in New York. They mostly work with kids in the foster system. Every summer, they offer camps to foster kids that  teach wilderness skills, but they do so much more than that. They create community, belonging, hope. An escape from life in the foster system. And each summer, the Bear Cubs have a different troop number. So if Peter is a Bear Cub, we can use his troop number to figure out what summer he went to camp. The Blake Foundation will have records of everyone who attended. We should be able to identify Peter.”

Hotch looked hopeful. “Alright. I’ll send Morgan and Reid to the camp to see what they can find.”

“I’ll go, too,” Greenlee said determinedly.

“Not a chance, Garrett,” Hotch said sharply. “You’re too close to this.”

Greenlee looked like she wanted to argue, but held back.

 

* * *

 

In a cabin office on the property of Camp Bear Cub, Morgan questioned an old woman exasperatedly.

“You’re certain that the shirt came from our camp?” she asked.

“We’re sure. The records?” Morgan prompted.

“I’m sorry, we lost a lot of our paper files to a flood a couple of years ago. What is the troop number?”

“It starts with a three and ends with a six,” Reid said.

“They all start with three,” the woman said unhelpfully. “But only…” she was counting, “three troops ended with a six. Troop 3246 in 2004; 3356 in 2010; and 3576 2015.”

“Start with 3576, the most recent troop,” Reid calculated.

The woman frowned. “That’s one of the files that was lost in the flood,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Morgan grabbed his temples in frustration, then turned to leave.

“Wait,” the woman said hurriedly. “There may be a photo of the Bear Cubs.”

Reid handed the woman a picture of Peter. “Do you recognize him? Please look carefully.”

The woman turned to the wall behind her, on which hung various camp pictures. Morgan skirted the counter that divided the room and joined her to look closely at all the pictures.

“That’s him right there,” he exclaimed, pointing at a photo of a Bear Cubs troop. “Is there a name, address, anything?”

“As I said, there are no records left,” the woman replied apologetically. “Let me see that,” she said, moving toward the picture to look at the boy Morgan indicated. “His name’s Charlie,” she said, helpful for once. “And he only came for one summer.”

“Is that odd?” Reid asked.

“Most boys attend every summer from the age of eight to about fifteen.”

“Do you remember who his foster parents were? His last name? Anything about him?”

“Oh, dear, no,” she said. Morgan and Reid turned to leave quickly. “I’d have no idea,” she said, turning back around to find she was talking to an empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a richer reading experience with images and gifs of the characters, read Foundations on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/daisychains4


	5. Five

The BAU and Katie’s team had now been joined by a special task force that coordinated undercover operations. Agent Carlton Jones, head of large operations, was directing the sizable group gathered in the CAC bullpen.

“Cole and Morgan, you’ll go as guests to try to get close to Forrester and Ward. Jareau, Reid, Hotchner, and Garrett, you’ll be servers working the event, watching their interactions. Our coordinator will be set up in the kitchens and we’ll have a van outside as well.”

“I can’t go as a server,” Greenlee said unexpectedly.

Jones looked at her with something like disgust. “I’m sorry Agent Garrett,” he said, enunciating each syllable. “Do you think you’re too good to be a waitress?”

Greenlee bristled, but looked to Hotch, who nodded at her.

“All due respect,  _ sir _ ,” she said through her teeth to the irritable Jones, “you misunderstand me.” She paused, very aware that every eye in the room was on her. “The Blake Foundation has a Board of Directors that oversees the running of the charity. I’m the Chairwoman of the Board. I can’t attend the Gala as a server because-” Greenlee took a deep breath “I’m expected to attend as a guest. Well, as the hostess, really.”

It would be hard to say who was more surprised at this pronouncement as everyone - save Hotch - let their mouths fall open in shock.

After a moment of surprised silence, Jones changed tact. “Alright, then, Garrett, you’ll switch with Cole. Morgan will be your date.”

Greenlee’s face betrayed her unhappiness with the new arrangement. Unfortunately, Jones noticed.

“What, Garrett?” Jones said, beside himself. “Morgan not good enough for you?”

Greenlee looked to Hotch again, but this time, her Unit Chief offered no encouragement.

“It’s just that, if one of them is our unsub, and he already suspects that we’re onto him, then he’ll be looking for anything suspicious at the Gala. And I’ve known both of these men for years. Either one of them will make Morgan in a heartbeat if they see me with him.” She turned to Morgan apologetically. “I’m sure in a tux you look like-”

“A chocolate Adonis,” Garcia offered.

“Right,” Greenlee smiled. “But you’re just not my type. No offense.”

Morgan put his hands up, smiling. “None taken,” he said, chuckling.

Jones looked no less annoyed. “Then who is your type?”

Greenlee hesitated, the most minor of glances in the direction of a different agent betraying her. “Reid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a richer reading experience with images and gifs of the characters, read Foundations on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/daisychains4


	6. Six

The team had finally headed back to the hotel to catch a few hour’s sleep before tomorrow’s operation. Greenlee had showered and changed into leggings and an oversized shirt, ready to climb into bed, when she realized that she’d left one of her bags in the team’s SUV. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, except her phone charger was in it and her phone was nearly dead.

Sighing resignedly to herself, she let her tired legs drag her back down the elevator and out to the car.

On her way back inside, phone charger dangling from her tired hands, something caught Greenlee’s eye. She stepped quietly into the doorway of one of the hotel’s ballrooms, which was empty but for one man. She watched as Spencer Reid stood in the middle of the ballroom, his back to her. He took his phone out of his pocket and, to Greenlee’s complete surprise, music began to play softly through it. She continued watching as the lanky FBI agent put his arms up and took a shaky step forward with his left foot, then took a diagonal step forward with his right. He put his feet together before repeating the pattern. On the third set, Reid attempted to change directions while beginning his box step and stumbled over his own large feet. At that untimely moment, he looked up to see Greenlee leaning in the doorway.

She took a tentative step forward, hoping he wouldn’t be bothered that she’d been watching.

“It generally works better with a partner,” she said kindly, walking into the room.

Spencer’s face was a deep red as he avoided eye contact with her.

“May I?” Greenlee continued, holding up her right hand for him to take.

Reid was slow to take her soft hand in his, but he did take it. Greenlee took this as a good sign, so she reached her left hand up to rest on his shoulder. She had to lift her chin to look him in the eye; he was quite a bit taller than she was. Reid hesitantly brought his other hand to her waist, laying his hand so gently on her that it felt to her no more than a whisper.

Greenlee waited for Spencer to make the first move. In a waltz, after all, she should not be the one leading.

When he did move, it was mechanical, as though he’d learned the steps alone, never having practiced with a partner. She allowed him to lead her in a few robotic circles before finally speaking.

“Where did you learn to dance?” she asked quietly.

“My mother taught me,” he replied, looking at her left ear. “She always told me that a proper gentleman knows how to waltz.” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly at the memory.

“She taught you the steps,” Greenlee replied. Spencer wasn’t sure what this meant, and it showed on his face. “Dance is only like… 40% knowing the steps.” He looked at her forehead quizzically. As they continued to repeat his robotic box step, Greenlee continued. “The other 60% is eye contact.”

Spencer’s eyes snapped to meet Greenlee’s. She smirked.

“I’m kidding. Eye contact is only like,” she paused, eyes looking up to the left as if thinking, “15%. The rest is what you feel.”

Spencer remained silent, unsure what she meant. Though he’d had trouble looking her in the eye all day, now he found he couldn’t look away from her bright blue eyes.

“Every dance should tell a different story, portray a different emotion. The tango, for example, is all passion and lust. But the waltz-” she paused, thinking, “the waltz is sentimental and romantic.”

She moved closer to him, her body almost pressed up against his. She was so close that he could smell the faint scent of lavender on her skin. He felt electricity pass between them as Greenlee finally closed the last inch of space between them.

They continued to move silently, Reid’s body relaxing slightly.

“The waltz is like getting as close to kissing someone as you can without touching their lips,” she breathed, her mouth mere inches from his. Reid could feel himself being pulled toward Greenlee, as if by gravity or some other force of nature.

Suddenly, Reid tensed again, stepping away from Greenlee. “This just isn’t believable,” he said, more loudly than he’d intended. His voice carried in the empty ballroom.

“What isn’t believable?” she asked, taken aback.

“This,” he gestured between them, “you and me. No one will believe we’re together.”

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“Just look at you and look at me. We’re complete opposites.” At this, Greenlee’s face darkened. Spencer plowed on, the flood gates apparently opened. “In high school you were probably the head cheerleader, the prom queen, popular. Probably a mean girl. You and I would never have dated.”

Greenlee stood, momentarily shellshocked, before recovering. “You’re right. In high school we would never have dated. But not because I was the head cheerleader, or the homecoming - not prom - queen.” Her voice was louder now, too. “I was actually one of the nice girls, even to guys like you. But you would have made assumptions about me just because of what I was. You never would have taken the time to get to know me. Even now. So you’re right, we’re not believable as a couple. But that’s not because of me.”

At this, she turned sharply and stalked out of the room, leaving a stunned Spencer in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a richer reading experience with images and gifs of the characters, read Foundations on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/daisychains4


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song, "Turning Page," featured in this chapter belongs to Sleeping at Last. Check it out at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQDsKAdHFao

Spencer spent the next day feeling ashamed of himself. He’d only known Greenlee for two days and he’d already put his foot in his mouth. Not that he wasn’t used to it. But usually he only made a fool of himself, not the other person. All day he hoped for the opportunity to apologize.

 

It didn’t come.

 

In the evening, most of the team of undercover agents had gathered in the bullpen of New York’s CAC getting reading for the Gala. The room that had just been full of the black pants and crisp white shirts of Gala servers was now nearly empty but for the BAU team.

 

**_I’ve waited a hundred years, but I’d wait a million more for you._ **

 

Morgan, who sensed something was off about Reid, seemed to think he was nervous about going undercover. And Spencer was nervous, but not for the operation. He was nervous about facing Greenlee, feeling guilty for what he’d said and how he’d made her feel. He worried that she wouldn’t be able to forgive him and that it would show during the Gala, tipping them off to the unsub. Or worse, that she would never trust him while she was on the team.

It was because of this that Morgan was standing in front of Reid, offering him words of advice as he handed him an earpiece. As Reid put the tiny bud in his ear, Morgan put his hands on Reid’s shoulders in a brotherly gesture.

“Just try to play it cool,” the older agent told him. “Let Greenlee do the talking. This is her territory, apparently.”

Penelope joined Derek. “My handsome boys,” she said, putting her arms around them both. She reached up to straighten Reid’s crooked bowtie. “Are you ready?” she asked, watching Reid pull on his tuxedo jacket.

 

**_Nothing prepared me for..._ **

 

“Whoa, Garrett,” Morgan said suddenly, looking past Reid.

 

**_...what the priviledge of being yours would do._ **

 

When Spencer turned, it was to see Greenlee at the top of the staircase that led into the bullpen. She wore a deep blue gown that was unlike anything Spencer had ever seen. It was velvet, and wrapped snuggly around her lithe form. The halter top showed off graceful shoulders, and when she took the first step down the stairs, an impossibly high slit in the left leg showed off the smooth skin of her thigh. A silk skirt in the same navy color wrapped around her waist from the back, and when she descended the stairs, it drifted behind her, making her look as though she floated toward Spencer on a dark wave in the sea.

Penelope squealed as she watched Greenlee make her way gracefully down the stairs, and JJ joined in.

 

“Why couldn’t I wear that?” JJ asked Penelope, indicating the server uniform she had to wear for the operation. Penelope giggled.

Before the girls could swarm Greenlee, Hotch cleared his throat. “Alright, team, let’s roll.”

 

Greenlee reached Spencer, who stood dumbstruck in front of her.

 

“Ready?” she asked.

 

Spencer didn’t - or couldn’t - answer. Taking this for a yes, Greenlee moved toward the door. Spencer hesitated only momentarily before rushing to get the door for her. As she swept into the moonlight, Spencer’s hand grazed her back, guiding her forward.

 

**_If I had only felt the warmth within your touch._ **

 

Upon his hand’s contact with her back, Spencer realized that there was no fabric separating their skin. Between the strap around her neck and the train that flowed out from her waist, Greenlee’s back was bare. 

 

**_If I had only seen how you smile when you blush._ **

 

She paused just long enough to look at him, a small smile turning up the corners of her red lips. Greenlee blushed slightly.

 

**_Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough…_ **

 

The other agents watched this brief exchange with small smiles of their own. JJ looked sideways to Penelope, whispering, “Have you ever seen Spencer speechless?”

Penelope shook her head, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

 

**_Well I would have known_ **

**_What I was living for all along._ **

**_What I’ve been living for..._ **

 

Spencer opened the door to a black Towncar that was waiting outside the federal building. Greenlee slid inside, followed by Spencer. Once he’d closed the door, he turned to look at her. She looked back expectantly.

“Garrett,” he began, her last name seeming awkward and impersonal coming from him, even though that's how the team addressed each other. “Greenlee,” he tried again, relaxing into himself.

 

**_Your love is my turning page_ **

**_Where only the sweetest words remain._ **

 

Greenlee put her hand on top of Spencer’s, which was resting on his knee. “It’s ok,” she said, anticipating his apology. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

 

**_Every kiss is a cursive line,_ **

**_Every touch is a redefining phrase._ **

 

Spencer looked at her hand before responding. “You were right, though. I shouldn’t have made assumptions about you just because of how you look. I should know better. I’ve spent my whole life being judged for being a nerd.”

“I don’t think you’re a nerd,” Greenlee said, putting her hand back in her lap. 

Spencer eyed her, smirking. “I slouch, my hair’s too long, my tie is perpetually crooked-”

 

**_I surrender who I’ve been for who you are…_ **

 

“Well, we can fix that,” Greenlee said, reaching across the seat to straighten his bowtie.

 

**_For nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart._ **

 

Spencer smiled. “My point is,” he began again, “I should know better. And I’m sorry.”

Greenlee smiled, and Spencer felt as though the whole car was lit up from within. They spent the rest of the ride to the Gala in comfortable silence, catching each other in a sideways glance now and then. Every time this happened, Greenlee smiled at him. Spencer couldn’t help but beam every time Greenlee caught his eye.

 

**_If I had only felt how it feels to be yours..._ **

 

When their Towncar pulled into a line of similar luxury cars, Spencer’s heartbeat sped up. He adjusted his tie again.

“Don’t be nervous,” Greenlee said, “This will be easy. You just have to stand by me and look pretty,” she teased. Her door was opened from the outside. Before she got out, she looked back at Spencer one more time. “Oh, and act like you're in love with me of course.”

 

**_Well I would have known_ **

**_What I’ve been living for all along._ **

 

She allowed herself to be pulled from the car by a helpful valet.

Spencer took a deep breath. “Like I'll have to do much acting,” he muttered before following his date.

  
**_What I’ve been living for..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a richer reading experience with images and gifs of the characters, read Foundations on my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/daisychains4


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